


an empty house

by watergator



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ben Parker Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Spider Bite Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: peter and may grieve together
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Kudos: 3





	an empty house

Numbness spreads across his body like he’s been dunked in freezing cold water. It’s tingling in the tips of his fingers, burning fiercely in the soles of his feet, making him want to just  _ run. _

The police station is too loud. It’s too bright and it’s too big and his heart is so heavy where it sits in his chest, it feels like a rock pulsing against his ribs, each beat and each out of sync pounding is like another dull ache there, spreading across each inch of his body until he’s completely and utterly numb.

His leg won’t stop bouncing. His foot,  _ tap, tap, tapping  _ against the linoleum flooring, tacky and sticky on the bottom of his sneakers, and when he glances down, he instantly closes his eyes shut right. There’s still blood drying on the toe of his shoes, so stark and clear against the muddy white they should be – the muddy white they  _ used  _ to be.

His hands won’t stop shaking. His body is trembling even when he tries extra hard to sit still, holding his breath every few minutes, only to let it blow past his lips in a desperate escape with a hitch in his chest, feeling just as dull and sharp as the rock in his chest.

He feels so overwhelmed, tears spill over his cheeks, unblinking as they trickle down in parallel lines down each side of his face, and Peter wonders if he’ll eventually run out of tears, and feel the pain gnaw at him from the inside out instead of pouring it down with hot, salty tears rolling in fat streaks down his face.

He licks away a tear that’s dripping onto his lip, and his breath shudders again. 

He feels too big for his skin; wanting to crawl out of it somehow, like him on the inside doesn’t match the version of himself on the outside. He wishes there was some sort of zip, right from the top of his head down to the bottom of his spine, where he could just yank it down and step out and leave this other him behind.

Someone’s scribbling something on a paper, loud and harsh and Peter ducks his head down. Someone else coughs, another person grits their teeth. The sound of metal against metal can be heard down the corridor when a man is struggling against his restraints.

He presses his palms over his ears, flat and tight so the world is nothing but a muffled version of itself. It helps, only momentarily, until he can hear his own pulse underneath his skin, and when he tries to hold his breath, an attempt to steady his erratic heartbeat, nothing seems to help, and he feels the pulse in his chest grow heavier and heavier with each beat.

He finally looks up when he hears feet; the quick, hurried steps that clip across the floor, and once Peter is looking up at May’s grief stricken face, he wonders to himself whether there’s any point in even trying to pretend to keep it all together.

They seem to crumple together; Peter standing on wobbly legs, and May taking the last few steps she can managed as they fall into one another, Peter’s head crushed between her chest and hand as she holds him so impossibly tight, it’s like she’s trying to morphe them both into one being.

Maybe it’ll help, Peter things as his breath hitches uncomfortably in his chest like a hook digging into his diaphragm.

Sobs escape from inside him, feeling his aunt press a shuddering kiss to the top of his head, sniffing back an abundance of tears he knows she’s holding back desperately, trying hard to keep a brace face for her nephew.

They remain in a locked embrace, the rest of the police station bustles around them, and for a split second, Peter feels angry: How dare everyone else just carry on? How  _ dare  _ they continue with their lives, whilst Peter and May just had their whole life jolted from underneath them.

But the anger simmers down rather easily as the familiar feeling flickers in his stomach.  _ Don’t get angry, _ Peter tells himself as May is pulling away the wet strands of hair stuck to her face.  _ Not again _ .

May has to fill out some paperwork, not once leaving each other’s sight as the teenager slumps back into the plastic chair, focusing on his bloody sneaker as his leg jogs up and down. He almost jumps out of his skin when there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, only when he scrambles to look up, he relaxes when May’s soft gaze comes into vision.

She ushers him gently, and he’s slow to follow, body feeling sore and tired; he has no idea how long he’s been here or what time it is anymore.

The air is cool, and the sky is a dark blue, not a single star twinkles above the thick clouds that are scattered above him. But Peter’s not interested in the weather, as he glumly follows May across the parking lot, sneakers scuffing against the concrete floor with every reluctant step.

There’s a rock sitting heavy in his stomach, weighing him down as he tries to have at least one coherent thought. But it’s rendered useless as his mind continues to be a scrambled mess of thoughts, pushing out the bad ones and trying hard to grasp onto the rapidly fading good ones.

They reach May’s car, his aunt waiting patiently as she holds the door for him, and as Peter slips into the passenger seat, he has a weird feeling squirming in his gut.

It doesn’t go away when May gets into the driver's seat and when she starts up the car and pulls out of the station parking lot, Peter still struggles to find why he’s feeling so… unsettled.

They reach their apartment block, fumbling out of the car and up the stairs, because the elevator is broken as always, and it’s not until May’s unlocking the door and following her inside that Peter realises what’s making him feel so weird.

It’s because Ben isn’t coming home with them.

He vaguely hears May put her keys away, the shuffling of her feet as she makes her way to the kitchenette, pulling a water from the fridge, only pausing to call out to him if he wants one.

But Peter can’t find the words to respond as he just stands there, feeling like his shoes are glued to the floor, the world slips away from his and he crumples in on himself like wet paper, and the breath hiccuping in his chest is sharp and harsh.

He doesn’t notice May spinning around to look at him with wild eyes, still red and puffy. He doesn’t notice her uncertain hesitation; unsure of what to do for her grieving nephew who just witnessed the death of his uncle - her  _ husband _ . The woman before him was married this morning. Now, she’s a widow.

But Peter notices when there’s arms around him, trembling yet steady as she lets his body lean into hers, and before he knows it, they’re both on the ground in a heap, sobs mixing in with each other’s, bodies shaking, fingers trembling and shaking with desperation as he fists the front of her blouse, gripping it so tight it might just tear. 

But Peter doesn’t want to let go, ever. Not if he can help it.

May doesn’t pull away, so Peter stays. They hold each other, a hand running through his curls, and when she presses a kiss to his forehead, her own tears drip from her chin, landing with his in a puddle of grief.

The sounds of the city continues outside from their tiny, sad apartment. A car horn honks, someone’s laughing, another person yells, and the world seems to carry on spinning, even when a huge part of Peter’s and May’s is forever gone.

There’s no key in the lock, no booming voice that follows with a heavy laugh. No science channel on repeat as May calls him away from it to come set the table. 

No more Uncle Ben in their lives. Just a gaping hole in his chest like he himself had been struck by the same bullet.

May holds him, lips pressed against his hair, a hand cradling the back of his head like a child –  _ wishing _ he was a child again, sandwiched between his aunt and uncle on the couch on a cold day, watching old movies until his eyes go tired and he’d be nudged off to bed, Aunt May holds him, like she too has the intention of never letting go.

Time blurs into nothingness as they sit on the cold, wooden floorboards, sobbing into each other’s close with hot tears and snot, unbothered and unabashedly, because all Peter wants to go, is to hold his one family member left, and make sure he doesn’t do anything to let her go.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr !! @watergator


End file.
